


Smallville Cows

by cantkeepupwithmyfeels



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: B is a theif, Cutesy, I wasn't sure how to end this so I'm apologizing now, M/M, old shirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantkeepupwithmyfeels/pseuds/cantkeepupwithmyfeels
Summary: Prompt from bpdamianwayne on tumblr: Superbat: "Can I have my shirt back?"





	Smallville Cows

Clark had a Smallville Crows shirt that he had gotten his Junior year of high school. Ma had made him get it three sizes up since he was still growing at the time and even back then he was never scrawny. Even so, it had hung almost down to his knees back then. Now it fit perfectly, though it was old, the bright red faded and dulled to almost pink, and there were ink stains and holes in it. Not to mention the ‘r’ in Crows had faded almost completely so from a distance it read ‘Smallville Cows’. But it was nice to sleep or relax in during those rare moments he could do either. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

He hadn’t thought too much about it when the shirt first went missing. He was in the (rather slow) process of moving his things from his tiny apartment in Metropolis to Wayne Manor (of course, he’d keep basics there for nights where he either couldn’t leave Metropolis or that Clark Kent couldn’t be seen at Wayne Manor), and thought he had packed it with his first bag of clothes. However, when he went to grab it out of the dresser he had now shared with Bruce (and if that didn’t make his heart soar), it was nowhere to be found. He had shrugged it off and slept shirtless that night, not that his lover complained. But as weeks went by and stuff really started transition from his apartment to the Manor, he started to worry he had somehow lost it or if even worse, Alfred had tossed it. Not that he thought ill of the butler, he just knew that Alfred liked things a certain way. That thought was dismissed when he saw Bruce’s ratty old blue hoodie and grey sweatpants ensemble one afternoon when the billionaire was feeling particularly dead to the world. Besides, Alfred would have asked him (like he did Bruce for what must have been the millionth time if the older man’s tone was anything to go by) if he was sure he wanted to keep it first. After a few more days of searching, Clark decided he must of dropped it somehow when he was flying clothes over and resigned to that fact that it was probably gone for good.

* * *

It was late, or rather early, almost morning,  when Clark had finally gotten home from an off World mission. J’onn had been waiting for him at the Watchtower, meaning he or Diana had made Bruce go home after his turn on deck. B never admitted to waiting for him when he was gone, but that was alright, Di or Barry were more to happy to inform Clark. He never let him know he knew. It was a dance they had done with most things in their lives, from their identities to how they had felt about each other. Of course, they always confronted it sooner or later. For now, Clark enjoyed having the upper hand.

He landed on the balcony that connected to their room. Just as quietly, he stripped out of the Superman suit and slid in bed next to his sleeping lover as carefully as possible. He was a light sleeper, especially right after patrol. Clark smiled a bit when Bruce only stirred to curl into the new heat source. Must of been a long night. After a quick scan of his body (bruised ribs and a sprained wrist), he laid his head on his arm to watch him a while. He always thought Bruce looked younger when he slept, easier to read. The dark circles around his eyes were more prominent and he could see faint whispers of scars peaking out of the collar of whatever shirt he was sleeping in, souvenirs from years of trying to clean up the streets of Gotham.

“You’re doing it again.” Bruce hummed, eyes never opening nor was there any trace of sleep in his voice. Damn heart rate control.

“Doing what?” Clark asked gently, playing with his hair in hopes to lull the other into actually sleeping. Bruce wasn’t fooled, never was.

“Staring. I can feel you doing it, Clark.” The Dark Knight grumbled, leaning slightly into the touch. “We’ve talked about that.”

“You’re own fault for being so nice to look at.” Clark teased, earning a grunt that could have been a snort. He watched as Bruce opened his eyes only to turn away to check the time before sitting up and stretching. He gawked at what he saw in the pale dawn light. “ _That’s_ where it went!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and followed his lover’s eyes to the shirt he had been sleeping in. It was a little baggy on him, the lettering lower than it should be on his chest and the worn out crow almost on his stomach, but it was unmistakably _Clark’s_ shirt. Looking back up, Bruce smirked. “Have you been looking for this?”

“Can I have my shirt back or what?” Clark rolled his eyes, hiding a little smirk of his own. Bruce hummed in thought, moving to settled into his lap. He leaned down as if to steal a kiss, only to stop inches from his lips and murmur.

“Only if you can take it from me.”

And really, who was Clark to back down from a challenge like that?


End file.
